


The Celebration of an Uninteresting Event (A Star Crashed at the End of the Universe)

by InfiniteBreath



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 2018 Stony MCU Bingo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Drama & Romance, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, I have no clue what this fic is turning in to, It's like my muse is determined to have Steve Rogers experience a dramatic catharsis, M/M, Original Character(s), Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteBreath/pseuds/InfiniteBreath
Summary: Steve Rogers recognizes Death's presence on the battlefield, and he is not afraid.He might, however, be afraid of life.





	1. The End is the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: This is my second attempt at writing in this fandom for this pairing. I was in the middle of working on another piece when an insatiable urge to write a Stony fic took root in my brain, and I signed up for the 2018 Stony MCU Bingo Challenge. I take a lot of liberties in this fic, including military culture, character personalities, the abilities of the infinity gems, and known canon information through Civil War. This fic was inspired by the Bingo card that I was assigned, and you’ll find those pieces tucked into this chapter, as well as the future chapters.
> 
> If you are not a fan of Steve Rogers, back out now. I am a fan who loves Tony and Steve equally, and I believe in both equally. If you are looking for Steve hate, go somewhere else.
> 
> Warnings: This fic is not Beta Read, as I have no Beta. I apologize for any mistakes. Also, as disclosed in the tags, there is major character death in this fic.
> 
> My assigned Bingo Card Prompts: Beard kink, Steve’s Letter, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Safehouses, and PTSD (alternative/bonus).

“Sam, on your left!”

Steve grimaced as a hefty, metal elbow connected with his right temple. His eyesight filled with white light, and he pitched forward toward the burning earth. The back of Steve’s neck began to prickle, and he swung his right shield high, impaling the razor-sharp tip into a Chitauri’s skull. The lifeless form went down heavy, yanking Steve hard. He fell on his left side and slid across compacted rock and dirt, skimming the skies with a blurry gaze.

Sam flew overhead, waving in silent gratitude as he zigzagged through more aerial attacks. Relief flooded Steve’s system, and he released a shaky exhale. He wrenched his shield free from the dead alien and scanned his immediate surroundings. Steve seemed to be lying in a small vacuum of stillness filled with nothing but the sounds of war. He shook his head and pressed the heels of his hands into his brows in a vain attempt to ease the pressure building behind his eyes. Steve took in a cleansing inhale and released a sharp breath, the sound mingling with the eerie cacophony of clashing weapons playing loud and fast in the background.

The steady beat of vibranium fending off alien elements pulsed against his skin like the sound of a mother’s heartbeat, its comforting cadence a sharp contrast to the piercing staccato of extra-terrestrial gunfire tearing through human flesh. The field vibrated with the cries of the wounded and of survivors, their wrecked voices filled with pain and sorrow. Steve filtered them out, putting his focus on the few battle calls still pushing through the chaos. He inhaled, pulling the lingering determination reverberating through the smoky air deep into his lungs.

Steve’s senses became permeated with the metallic scent of his fallen brethren. The smell coated the lining of his throat and savagely crawled through his system until it burrowed into the marrow of his bones. Resolve took root at the base of his heart, extending long arms outward. Steve almost choked from the weight of it.

It was his duty to carry the essence of his lost comrades to the end of his line. Dead soldiers always lived on within those who still breathed, still fought. On and on the essence of dead soldiers were passed amongst survivors, until finally, a brave heart would tow them all past the finish line. He wondered, not for the first time, which poor soul would inherit his scarred spirit.

Steve pushed himself to his knees and forced his body to stand on shaky legs, gazing out toward the horizon with a weary gaze. The earth was covered with layers of trampled flesh, a devastating rainbow of skin tones that both inspired and tore at the psyche.

Nations had put aside their differences to join arms in Earth’s defense, and the colors of various countries had been hoisted high into the air as soldiers charged into battle. These colors continued to wave from the bodies of the fallen, and each tiny movement of bloodied uniforms fluttering in the wind was a silent reminder of what was at stake.

It was heartbreaking that the act of rallying the world had cost so many lives almost immediately after nations had vowed a pledge of peace. It seemed blood was always the preferred medium of the gods when they allowed roads of peace to be paved in their realm.

Steve wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm and pushed back his sweaty bangs before sprinting forward into the battle. He scanned the field until he spotted T’Challa, Natasha, and Bucky moving through the fray, all at different points, and he instinctively moved toward Natasha’s aide. Her pale hair was stained red with blood, and he grimaced as wet tendrils slapped against the side of her face with her every movement, marking her skin. Natasha was exhausted, and she was quickly losing steam, as was Sam. It wouldn’t be long before they fell.

An iced chill suddenly raced down Steve’s spine, and the unchecked part of his heart recognized the hollow energy. He shivered as intangible fingers caressed the back of his neck, carding through his hair. He’d felt that touch before.  

Death had finally arrived, and she was a harbinger of the end. Steve swore he could feel the thrum of her breath push against his body, measuring his soul with the mere echo of her hunger. She would claim all lost souls only after the earth had soaked up the last drop of spilled blood, and then she would collect the hearts of those who survived.

Tucked somewhere within the folds of her infinite robe lay the heart of one Steven Grant Rogers.

Steve ran, tearing through any Chitauri that dared to step in his way. One of the aliens managed to knock his feet from beneath him, and he rolled into the fall, jumping back up as soon as he found some traction. They had all been fighting beside a united world army for two days, fending off wave after wave of enemy forces without any real rest. Sam and Natasha were at a severe disadvantage due to lacking the enhancements that pushed Steve, Bucky, and T’Challa to keep moving forward.

Steve knew it was time to send them onward with T’Challa so they could prepare for the final volley he saw brewing on the horizon. He gnashed his teeth and pulled his right wrist toward his mouth. “It’s time,” Steve rasped, speaking into the mouthpiece embedded in the cuff of his glove.

“No!” Sam cried, his voice cracking in Steve’s ear. “I still have some fight, Cap!”

Steve punched through a pair of Chitauri drones and sent their broken remains into the hands of angry winds. “Maybe, but it’s not enough. I need you to use what strength you have to secure ‘Tasha and carry her off the field. T’Challa and his inner guard need to be evacuated and escorted to the safehouse.”

“I-I’m not - I can’t leave you, Steve!”

Steve watched his friend twist through the air, leaving an angry trail of lifeless bodies behind him. “You don’t have a choice, soldier,” he intoned, “I’m giving you an order!”

“There’s no way you and Bucky can handle this by yourselves!”

“Didn’t your ma ever tell you to listen to your elders, Sam?” Bucky chastised in a strained voice. “Stevie and I have about seventy years on you, so do as he says and _move your ass_!”

Steve finally reached Natasha. He tore through the mob that had surrounded her, avoiding most of the attacks sent his way. He absorbed multiple blows as he curled around Natasha and pushed sideways, rolling their bodies to a safe distance in the trees, where the area was temporarily clear. Natasha managed to throw a grenade before collapsing on top of his body, and Steve’s heart twisted as he felt her ragged breaths push hard against his chest.

A wet rattle vibrated in her lungs, and the sound set Steve’s nerves on fire. He had to get her out now.  Steve palmed the crown of Natasha’s head and held her close for a few heartbeats, knowing she would understand that he was saying goodbye.

“We’re spinning our wheels here, Sam,” Steve heaved. “We have yet to get one real glimpse of Thanos in the flesh, but I know he’ll be here soon – psychopaths can only enjoy wading through the blood they’ve spilled for so long before they need to kill again. Bucky and I will keep fighting here with the soldiers. We’ll hold off the remaining drones so you can all rendezvous with the others and plan.”

“Cap – Steve!”

A memory from days long ago tugged at Steve’s focus, and his senses were immediately filled with the aromas of smoky bar rooms and cheap beer, comingled with the sounds of rowdy laughter. The ghost of an old smile touched Steve’s mouth, and he dropped his head to the ground and began to sing. The words pushed past his lips with an energy his limbs no longer possessed. “ _Fire at will! Lay ‘em low! Never stop for any foe, while those caissons go rolling along. For it’s ‘Hi! Hi! Hee!’ in the field artillery, call off your numbers loud and strong: Two! Three!_ ”

“Steve,” Natasha breathed, lifting her head. Her right eye was swollen shut.

“Hooah, Rogers!” Bucky cheered over the secure channel.

Steve continued singing. “ _But if Fate me should call, and in action I should fall, keep those caissons go rolling along. Then in peace I’ll abide when I take my final ride on a caisson that’s rolling along._ _For it’s ‘Hi! Hi! Hee!’ in the field artillery, call off your numbers loud and strong: Two! Three! And where e’er we go, you will always know, that those caissons are rolling along_.”

“Hooah, Cap,” Sam croaked, and he finally moved to descend.

Natasha’s left eye glistened with emotion, which Steve ignored as a courtesy to his friend. He sat up and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Go to Fury and meet up with Clint and Scott,” he urged. “Make sure their families are still safe. Find Wanda and make sure she finds her way to the safehouse. I’m going to need you all at your best to help T’Challa strategize with T-Stark. Most importantly, get some shut eye for me. I’m pretty tuckered out.”

Natasha snorted and cupped the sides of his face. “Come back to us, Steve. Bring Bucky if you want.”

A choked laugh rumbled in Steve’s throat, but he was spared from replying by Sam finally touching ground. His gear was battered and charred, and Steve caught sight of a significant tremor throbbing in his friend’s arms, pushing against the dried blood caked to Sam’s skin.

Sam immediately dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “Give ‘em hell, brother. I’ll be waiting for you to join us when we make our move to finish this war, so don’t do anything crazy.”

Steve returned Sam’s embrace, squeezing his torso tight. “Hold fast, Sam. Take care of our friends until we meet up again.”

Sam nodded against Steve’s shoulder and pulled away, tugging Natasha to her feet. He tucked her into his side and offered Steve a two-fingered salute before he took flight, moving away from the battle. Steve watched them soar over T’Challa’s location and signal the planned withdrawal.

The sound of heavy footsteps rumbled in the distance behind Steve, but he waited to greet the drones. He caught T’Challa’s eye from a distance and raised his hand in farewell. Steve would never be able to repay the kindness and trust that his newfound friend had offered him and Bucky.

“You all right, Rogers?”

“I’m rolling along, Barnes,” Steve wheezed.

“Sing with me, Stevie. _For it’s ‘Hi! Hi! Hee!’ in the field artillery, call off your numbers loud and strong: Two! Three!”_

Steve huffed out a laugh as Bucky began to sing, but he made sure to count off the cadence. “Hooah, Buck,” he offered, his voice tight with emotion. Renewed strength washed over Steve’s frayed system as he caught sight of T’Challa’s raised hand standing tall against the dark horizon, and he finally turned to welcome the horde heading his way.  

“Let’s finish this,” Steve ordered.

“What’s the plan?”

“Stay in the North quadrant and head East. I’ll take my stand here in the South and head West. Let’s clear the field as much as we can so the others have a minute to catch their breath. T’Challa and Stark are going to need reinforcements later.”

“And then?”

“If we’re lucky, we’ll get to go home.” Steve paused. “Maybe someday we’ll get another chance.”

Silence echoed in Steve’s ear for a long heartbeat. “Yeah, someday,” Bucky finally huffed. “So whadda ya say, soldier? You ready to earn that ride home?”

“Let’s do this,” Steve choked, steeling his nerves. “I got your back, Buck.”

“It’s your ass that always needs savin’, Rogers,” Bucky quipped. “Best keep your focus on what’s in front of you.”

A dry laugh rumbled in Steve’s chest, and he tucked its remnants deep into his memory. He saw Bucky run toward a large mob of drones, bright sunlight encasing his metallic arm with a deadly gleam. It was ironic that an antiquated future, in the form of two worn out super soldiers, was all that currently stood against a future that no man had ever dared to envision.

The hairs rose on the back of Steve’s neck, and he raised both shields high, blocking blows from both sides. He pushed against the force of electric spears aimed at his torso and sent the Chitauri wielding them out toward the center of the field. Blood rushed through his system with the force of a tsunami, the pressure of the discharge pounding in his temples.

Steve’s bangs fell across his forehead, framing his sweaty brow. He pushed through the horde, forcing his body to keep moving every time he took a hit. His shields moved through the air like weaponized ailerons, cutting through the smoke and the screaming and the blood lust with nothing but a whisper.

Steve lost himself in battle. His muscles screamed for relief, his lungs were one breath away from bursting at the seams, but he kept rolling along. Bucky had permanently opened the comms, and Steve could hear him singing the Army hymn as he fought. Each cadence call stimulated Steve’s tired mind, and when the world finally bled into a whirlwind of swirled colors and acerbic aromas, Bucky’s voice was the only thing that guided Steve forward.  Finally, just when the darkness framing the edges of his vision threatened to take over, his shield tore through the last drone in the western quadrant.

Steve fell to his knees, his chest heaving from exhaustion. Fatigue had blinded him, but he could still hear, and he frantically stretched his ears to catch Bucky’s voice over the comms.  He missed the cadence call, and the earpiece resting in his ear crackled, a tell-tale sound that the comm line was being hacked.

An electric current suddenly raked its claws across Steve’s skin, digging its nails into the vulnerable sides of his bruised torso. Steve’s nostrils filled with ozone. He recognized that magic was the cause behind the energy, and he braced himself to meet the caster. Steve shook his head, and the action loosened the beads of sweat sitting in the hairs of his tired brows. Large drops rained down his face, mining through layers of grime, desperation, and resolve.

A large portal opened in the sky, framed by a fluorescent, gold light. Steve fell forward on his hands, panting, and willed his vision to clear. His head hung so low to the ground that his breath stirred the charred soil, and it rose up to caress his face with a lover’s touch. Steve licked his lips, taking the earth within his mouth like a benediction. ‘Just one more round to go,’ he thought.

Steve raised his head in time to see three figures push through the opening of the portal, and while his vision was still blurry, he could clearly discern the red and gold that marked Iron Man’s form.  A large alien figure followed the trio through the portal, and the concentrated malice radiating from the being confirmed that Steve was staring at Thanos. Fear gripped Steve’s heart, choking off what precious breath he had in his lungs.

“No,” he gasped, pushing himself up from the ground. “No!”

“Steve! Stand down!”

“It’s too soon, Buck! Tony isn’t supposed to be here! The team hasn’t had time to regroup! This is all wrong!”

“Chaos doesn’t play by the rules, Rogers, you know that,” Bucky rasped. “Let’s do what damage control we can and hope it’s enough to clear a path for Stark.”

“I don’t need help from two old geezers punch-drunk on war songs,” Tony scoffed.

“You need to check your ego, Stark!” Bucky growled.

“Uh, guys,” a voice chimed in, “should you really be fighting right now?”

Steve was halfway across the field before he realized that he was running. There was a sharp tremor dancing in his fingers, and it doubled in intensity as the whine of Tony’s repulsors filled the air. In his mind’s eye, he could clearly see the glove of the Iron Man suit pointed at his chest. Steve’s steps stuttered, but he managed to right his footing before he fell on his face.

Now was not the time to freak out over old wounds.

“I’m coming, Steve, wait for me!”

“No time, Buck!”

Thanos filled Steve’s vision as his eyes finally cleared, and he was larger than Steve had imagined. He scanned the area and recognized one of Tony’s companions to be the kid from Queens. He recalled Natasha disclosing that Queens was Spider Man. The second companion was a stranger, and from what Steve could see, he was a flyer who wielded magic. Whether he was the one who cast open the portal was open for debate.

Steve was only a few yards away when a large, metallic hand punched Iron Man out of the sky. Tony fell, hard and heavy, and Steve’s ears were filled with the sickening crunch of metal grating against compacted soil. There was no doubt that the metallic hand was indeed the infamous gauntlet.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he chanted. Steve’s heart stopped as Thanos raised the gauntlet high into the air with the intent of squashing Tony into the earth. Steve was still too far away, he wasn’t going to make it, he’d failed to do his duty, he’d failed to protect what was most important….

“No!” Steve yelled as he watched Thanos take aim. He stretched out his hand, shield at the ready, and willed time to stop for a moment, just long enough for him to cross the last few feet that separated him from blocking the attack. Queens stepped into the hot zone and stilled Thanos’ movement with a shot of sticky webbing.

The action bought Steve enough time to punch the hand away from Iron Man’s location. Thanos quickly recovered and smacked Steve away like a fly, sending him soaring into a steadfast tree line. Steve crashed into a thick tree trunk, his weight splintering the top half beyond recognition. Sharp fragments pierced the exposed skin on his neck and arms, drawing blood.

The landing was brutal, and Steve felt his teeth tear into the sensitive flesh of his cheeks like a starved animal. One exhausted heartbeat passed, then another, the sensation filling his head with white noise. He forced his tired body to stand, spitting out a large pool of blood that stained the earth the vibrant color of a Camilla bloom. Steve saw Iron Man finally rise in his peripheral vision, and the sight granted him a fourth wind. His body was running on wispy vapors so delicate his breath threatened to send them out into the void. He had just enough energy left to make sure that Tony got to safety.

Steve retracted his shields and rushed Thanos head-on, throwing his full weight at the alien. A guttural growl rumbled in his chest as he caught the metallic fist rushing toward his head. Steve held on tight, and with his remaining strength, he pushed the fist back toward its hateful owner. Resolve etched a determined expression on his face, smudging sweat and dirt into the fine lines around his eyes and mouth.

Steve took in a ragged breath.  “Take Stark and go, Queens!” he commanded, his voice breaking at the end. A chorus of voices rushed over the comm line.

“You got it, Cap!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Rogers! Strange, give me some direction here!”

“Stevie, you idiot, I told you to wait!” Bucky yelled. “I’m almost there!”

“No rush, I can do this all day,” Steve grunted. “I got ‘im on the ropes, Buck.”

Steve uncurled Thanos’ fist, his body shaking from the exertion. He had to hold Thanos in place long enough for everyone to escape and regroup. His mouth fell open as a rabid roar crawled up his throat and clawed its way past his lips. A foreign sensation abruptly settled into the atoms of Steve’s body, singing a song of warning, as the gauntlet began to glow a rich purple color, and he found himself welcoming its melody into his heart.

The attack was laser-hot, and it tore through Steve’s mid-section like a heated knife cutting through butter. His lungs seized around the air trapped within, and Steve choked as the organs began to fill with blood. Cold air swept into the open pit that was once held several vital tissues, cooling the blood that rushed toward the gaping wound. Azure eyes filled with terrified awe, erasing the remaining resolve from Steve’s face. He knew in his heart that his fight was finally done – there was no way the serum could compete with the amplified power that Thanos wielded.

Steve’s trembling fingers lost their grip on Thanos’ fist, and his hands fell limp at his side.  Gravity gently pulled him down toward the waiting embrace of fragrant earth, whispering of silence and forgiveness and rest. He locked eyes with Thanos, staring down the arrogant greed filling the alien’s irises, and the ghost of a smirk touched his blood-stained lips.

‘ _You’re going to regret ever daring to attack Earth_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _Tony will find a way to crush you_. _I just wish I could see him rise_.’

A golden circle of pulsing light manifested behind Thanos, accompanied by a bright flash of green and the angry whine of Iron Man’s repulsor. Steve heard Thanos yell in outrage before being violently sucked into the door of the portal. He felt a hard tug on his battered body, but the man Tony had called Strange closed off the portal, cutting off its grip. Absolute silence followed in Thanos’ wake, and it exploded across the field, causing Steve’s ears to pop from the pressure.

Steve was still falling backward, and his eyes fluttered closed of their own volition. He found himself wondering if he would stop breathing before his body finally touched soil, but the thought faded away as Steve suddenly found refuge in the support of heated metal. The iconic sound of Iron Man’s faceplate lifting filled Steve’s ears, echoing in his head, and an ethereal warmth filled his heart, chasing away the chill of death.

“Tony,” Steve gurgled, choking on blood. The right corner of his lips tugged upward into the shadow of a smile, and he forced his eyes open. The comforting, russet hue of Tony’s eyes pushed away all light, filling his vision. Steve found himself mesmerized by the gold flecks scattered throughout the brown irises, warm and liquid like the bold energy of stars that sketch constellations in the galaxy.

Steve wondered how many he could count before he took his final breath.

“Shh, d-don’t talk,” Tony choked, shaking his head. He ordered Friday to scan Steve’s body, and Steve knew the action was meaningless. He was dying, and nothing could stop Death from taking her claim. Strange and Queens shuffled near, but their footsteps were drowned out by Bucky’s voice.

“Rogers, answer me!” he cried, his voice raw and desperate. “Stevie, you answer me right now goddamnit! I’m almost there!”

Steve took in a gasping breath, and the action made his lungs burn. “B-Buck,” he managed to stammer before Tony tore the earpiece from his ear.

Tony pulled Steve’s body close. “There must be something you can do, Strange!” he pleaded. “Turn back time, make it stop – there has to be something!”

“I suppose I could try to isolate the flow of time around the wound. It may buy us a moment so we can attempt to treat him.”

“Attempt?”

Sadness touched Strange’s features. “Death has no cure, Stark.”

Steve raised a trembling hand to Tony’s face and cupped his jaw. “N-no,” he gasped, hoping that Tony would understand. He had no more fight left in his soul. Steve had fought against many enemies, he had saved countless lives, and he’d taken just as many in return. He had sacrificed his heart and soul to the cause of being a just soldier, and Steve had willingly become a villain to fight for the greater good.  There was nothing left to give now, nothing but this moment, where he could take some of Tony’s pain with him to the afterlife.

Darkness framed his vision, threatening to cut off his sight, but Steve forced himself to meet Tony’s gaze. There were tears pooled in Tony’s eyes, magnifying the absolute loss silently raging within the pupils. There was so much Steve wanted to say to Tony, but he didn’t know where to start, or how to voice his feelings.

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ he mouthed, dragging his hand down Tony’s face. Steve’s fingers trailed down the Iron Man suit and cupped the light of the reactor shining bright in the center of Tony’s chest. He meant to say, “See, I was here for you, just like I said, Stark,” but what came out was a gurgled, “H-h-here.”

Someone called Steve’s name in the distance, and the sound filled the jagged cracks in his spirit, igniting the strange warmth burning in his heart. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place the owner. He wanted to turn, to seek out the voice, but the anguish in Tony’s eyes held him fast, and Steve found all he could do was hold on to the warmth and wait for Tony to release him.

He took in a short, choked breath, and it tore through his body like a bullet, leaving a trail of disintegration in its wake. “Looks like I’m finally going home,” he meant to say, but what came out was, “H-home.”

“N-no, not yet,” Tony choked, giving Steve’s body a light shake. “Steve, stay with me! Strange, do something!”

Steve’s mind reached out to the orange fire that had encased his heart, and he welcomed it into the deepest part of himself. A flash of green touched his vision before it was swallowed by complete darkness, and Steve felt his body spasm in Tony’s tight embrace.

“ _I want to stay right here_ ,” he thought, the notion drifting through his mind like the tail end of a dying breeze. “ _Just like this.”_

The fire exploded around Steve’s heart, scorching his system with an intense orange flame. He took in a shuddering breath as it filled his mind and neutralized all pain. Steve gave into the flame’s siren call, and he fell into the echo of Tony’s voice. And then he knew no more.


	2. The Beginning is the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up in a familiar place, surrounded by familiar faces, and it seems mission assignments have followed him into the hereafter.

The smoky trill of a clarinet kissed the tips of Steve’s ears, rousing him from deep sleep. Bronze eyelashes fluttered open, revealing a pair of sleepy, blue eyes that automatically turned toward the warmth of the morning sun. Steve blinked, long and slow, and rubbed his face into his pillow. He tugged a cashmere blanket up around his shoulders and was greeted with the scent of fresh laundry. A contented sigh tumbled from his lips, and he greedily inhaled the comforting apple-mango aroma.

The scent liquified Steve’s body down to his bones, and he felt himself melt into the mattress and become one with the memory foam. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a long moment of relaxation. It had been so long since he’d slept in a real bed, and even longer since he’d had the luxury of wrapping himself in bedding washed in the Gain detergent that Tony favored so much.

Steve’s eyes shot open at the thought of Tony, and he bolted upright in bed. He threw back the saffron colored blanket covering his body and ran both hands down his torso, checking for wounds. He felt whole, which was impossible, and he raked up the navy t-shirt he was wearing to inspect his body. There were no signs of open wounds, evidence of convalescing tissue, or scars. Steve had taken a direct hit from one of the Infinity Gems, but his torso was completely clear.

He remembered searing pain, and the horrified wonder that had settled into the cracks of his tired soul as he felt the serum fail his body. A hungry darkness had stolen his eyesight, and Steve recalled the feeling of blood rushing to his lungs, seeking refuge from death. He could still feel tight, gasping breaths pushing at the strained seams of the organs, mingling with the blood, as darkness spread through his body and slowly shut down his system. Steve had welcomed the sensation, he’d chosen to embrace death, and yet, he remembered being drawn to the golden light in Tony’s eyes.

There had been tears in Tony’s eyes at the end.

A chill raced up Steve’s spine, settling at the base of his skull, and he fisted the powder blue sheets still covering his legs with a desperate grip. He remembered dying in Tony’s embrace near the borders of Wakanda. Death had shut down Steve’s body, and it was a sensation that he had never experienced before, not even when the Arctic Waters had entombed his body. The freezing water had lulled Steve to sleep, pulling a blanket over his mind as it slowed the beats of his heart to a mere memory of a crawl. He’d floated for years, drifting in silence.

The event in Wakanda had filled Steve’s mind with a terrible sensation of finality, a total shutdown of consciousness with no return ticket. And yet, here he was, breathing, thinking, feeling. He should be frightened at the thought of not knowing exactly where he was, _what_ he was at this point, but he was far from feeling afraid. He knew this room – Clint had allowed Tony and Steve to call it home once.

Steve scanned the area and confirmed that its layout was already locked in his memory. The chest of drawers he had once shared with Tony stood tall against the far back wall, and Steve traced the familiar distressed, honeydew chalk paint coating its surface with curious eyes. He wondered if Tony’s gray Zeppelin shirt still slept in the third drawer. It had been left behind when the Avengers had taken their leave from Clint’s sanctuary, and Tony had complained the entire trip home. He’d demanded that Clint have Laura mail it to him, but to Steve’s knowledge, the delivery had never been made. No doubt Clint had held on to the shirt as an emergency bargaining chip.

He pushed his legs over the side of the mattress, bunching the sheets near the foot of the queen size bed. Steve had slept in this bed before, and he’d shared its limited space with Tony. He raked his eyes over the right side of the bed and found that the bedding was undisturbed. His first thought was that Tony was puttering around in Clint’s barn and hadn’t made it to bed again, but he pushed the absurd notion away.

The room felt familiar, but there was an eerie energy crawling through the shadows, watching Steve through the floorboards. The room was real, and yet, it wasn’t, and the feeling made Steve’s skin crawl. This was a test – he could feel it in his bones.

Steve ran a shaky hand down his face, pulling lightly at the ends of his beard. He was surprised to find his facial hair combed and well-conditioned. It had been quite some time since he’d bothered to properly groom the wayward fuzz on his face, and yet, he could smell the faint scent of sandalwood and oakmoss clinging to the coarse hairs. Someone, or some _thing_ , had dolled Steve up with his favorite beard oil for his own wake.

The smoky aroma of fried bacon wafted through the open doorway, tapping the end of Steve’s nose. He rose to his feet and straightened the waistband of the black sweatpants clinging to his hips. Deep down, Steve knew he should be alarmed about his current circumstances. He was dead and Thanos was still alive. The alien was a dangerous threat - Steve had died by his hand after suffering only one attack. There was no telling how long Stark tech would be able to keep Tony safe. Queens was a greenhorn, and Strange’s magic was bound to have limits. Even with T’Challa’s resources standing at the ready, Earth’s forces would need to formulate the mother of all counter attacks to defeat Thanos.

Thanos was currently ripping the universe apart stitch by stitch, and some force had seen fit to tuck Steve Rogers into bed for a posthumous nap. What was the point of keeping him around if he was dead? Did Thanos have a way of resurrecting the dead to do his bidding? Steve steeled his nerves and padded toward the entrance, his senses on high alert. He scanned the room for anything that he could use as a weapon, but the only objects around him besides the bed and the chest of drawers were the various reams of fabric Laura stored against the back wall.

Steve’s right eye twitched in annoyance as soft, plush carpet hugged his toes, cradling his full weight. He hated fighting barefoot. The muted sound of Dorothy Lamour’s “You’ll Never Know” played in the background, growing more loud and clear with each step he took. A tremble danced in Steve’s fingers, and he quickly shook it off. He knew this song. It had been a popular tune with the dames left behind waiting for their soldiers to come home. Steve had listened to the song once with Peggy, and he would never forget how the soft light of the bar lanterns had framed the lovely sheen in her eyes before she blinked, and it disappeared.

Steve stepped out into the hallway and brushed off the feeling of déjà vu that pressed against his skin. Someone had taken a page from Nick Fury’s spy playbook, and it was the wrong move to make. He hadn’t been fooled the first time, and he damn sure wasn’t buying what the creator of this play world was peddling for this round. His hand cupped the banister to his right, and he took a moment to appreciate the smooth finish of the cedar beneath his fingertips. This world had managed to capture Clint’s fine craftmanship, which was an amazing feat.

He sidestepped down the staircase with silent footing, keeping his back facing away from the music streaming from the far left of the stairs. The breath stilled in Steve’s lungs as he glided across the oak floorboards lining the living room and inched his way toward the large doorway leading into the kitchen. He pressed his back against the inner edge of the crown molding and took in a deep inhale before rounding the corner.

The site that greeted Steve just about knocked him straight on his ass. His quick steps came to a stuttering halt, and he found he could do nothing but stand in the middle of Clint’s kitchen with his mouth hanging open.

Peggy was standing in front of a stainless-steel stove, humming along with Dorothy Lamour. She glanced back and offered him a warm smile before flipping the two eggs that she was frying in the pan. Peggy jumped back with a giggle as oil splashed into the air. She let the eggs sit and cook for a long minute before she slid them onto an olive, ceramic plate.

“Well good morning, my darling,” she greeted, walking over to hand Steve the plate. “I was wondering when you were going to get out of bed. It’s not like you to sleep so late.”

Steve took the offered plate from Peggy’s hands, and a choked whine sounded in his throat. His eyes were glued to her lovely face, tracing every fine detail with a hungry gaze.

“What’s with that expression?” Peggy laughed, ushering Steve toward a red, Formica table sitting in front of a picture window showcasing Clint’s rustic backyard. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Sit down already, Steve! The bacon should be ready to come out of the oven by now.”

Peggy slid nimble fingers up Steve’s arms and let them settle on his shoulders. She gave the tense muscles beneath her hands a light squeeze before guiding Steve into a metal chair with rounded corners. He jumped when her lips pressed a kiss to his temple. “My, my, you’re so tense this morning, my darling. You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.”

Steve forced himself to take a few bites of his eggs, and he took a drink from the cup of coffee that seemed to have manifested out of thin air. He stared at Peggy as she moved about the kitchen, piling an exorbitant amount of bacon on another plate. She was wearing a flattering red, shirtwaist dress adorned with black buttons. The calm air was filled with a soft staccato melody sung by the chunky, black heels she wore on her feet, and Steve found himself being lulled by the sound. The tension slowly bled from his muscles, and he offered Peggy an affectionate smile as she stacked a small mountain of bacon on his plate.  

In his heart, Steve knew none of this was real, but he very much wanted it to be.

“Peggy,” Steve croaked, finally finding his voice. He found himself mesmerized by the burgundy color staining her lips. He slid a trembling hand across the table, fingers stretched out in a silent plea, but the gesture wilted and died as his eyes fell upon the soft curve of her belly.

Peggy was pregnant.

Steve yanked his hand back and stared at Peggy with wide eyes. “What is this?” he breathed.

“Whatever do you mean, darling?” Peggy tittered, amusement dancing in her eyes. She sat in a chair beside Steve, cupping the sides of her belly with both hands. “Surely you aren’t referring to our little joy as _this_.”

“Our…little joy?” Steve croaked.

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy sighed, leaning back in her seat. She reached out and stole a piece of bacon from Steve’s plate. It disappeared in three bites. “Really now, I thought you were past the shock phase. I’m almost past the second trimester.”

“Shock phase?”

“It seems my husband has mutated into a parrot overnight.”

“ _Husband_?”

“Steven Grant Rogers, you stop this nonsense right now!” Peggy chastised. She slipped her swollen feet out of her heels and lay them in Steve’s lap. “Honestly. Your horrendous attitude is upsetting me, and if I’m upset, your son is upset.” She caressed her belly with the tips of her fingers.

“ _Son_?!”

Peggy jabbed Steve in the chest with the toes of her right foot. “Yes, your son.” Her eyes flicked behind him. “Isn’t that right, Poppet?”

“Are we goin’ fishin’ today, Pops?”

Steve whirled around in his seat, bumping his elbows into the steel border framing the table. A little boy stood behind him, and he guessed the child was about four or five. His heart lurched in his chest as he drank in the boy’s features. Chestnut brown hair framed a set of hazel eyes that were accented with thick brows, and Steve could see the artistic blending of his and Peggy’s nose and jaw shape in the gentle bends of the boy’s face. The cherubic curve of the boy’s mouth, however, belonged completely to his mother, and it made Steve’s heart hurt.

The boy was a physical manifestation of Steve’s dearest dream, and he was perfect in every way. Steve reached out and touched the boy’s cheek with shaky fingers. He glanced back at Peggy, desperate for any sign from her, be it confirmation, or simple support. He noted that her belly was flat, and the sight made his nerves itch. Steve pushed Peggy from his thoughts and turned back to the boy.

The boy sniffed and gave Steve a bewildered look, rubbing his nose. “You all right, Pops?”

“I - uh - yeah, buddy, I’m fine,” Steve choked.

“Alaric, what have I told you about touching your face at the dining table?” Peggy scolded. “Now you’ll have to wash your hands before you eat.”

“Aww, mom, I already washed them!”

“Well, now you have to wash them again.”

“I didn’t even touch my face for that long!”

“You touched the dirtiest part of your face, young man, and that action warrants another good hand washing – with lots of soap.”

“I don’t wanna.”

The determined expression on Alaric’s face was one Steve was familiar with. He’d seen it every day in the mirror during his childhood. He ruffled the boy’s hair and took a moment to marvel at its softness. “Do as your mother says,” he encouraged. “It won’t take but a minute, and then you and I can talk about this fishing trip.”

“Okay,” Alaric grumbled, crossing his arms. “But for the record, I already washed my hands like mom asked.”

Steve snorted, swallowing a chuckle. Alaric needing to have the last word reminded him of Tony. The thought hadn’t even finished forming in his mind as Alaric’s visage rippled, contorted, and he watched the ends of the boy’s bangs bend into loose, unruly curls around his face, framing his darkened brown eyes. A playful smirk bloomed on Alaric’s face, and it fully displayed the infamous Stark charisma. Steve started in his seat, gripping the back of the chair tight with both hands.

“You bent the chair again, Pops,” Alaric laughed, skipping out of the kitchen. “Dad’s goin’ to have a bird! He’s going to buy replacements from IKEA and make you put them together without instructions!”

And then he was gone, leaving behind a void of heavy stillness that pulled at Steve’s heartstrings. He was sure he had just lain eyes on a boy who was a fusion of himself and Tony Stark, and the mere memory of the boy’s face, of the vibrant Stark energy coursing through his veins, stole the breath from Steve’s lungs. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and he was hit with a strong sense of _want_ that set his heart on fire.

“My, my,” Peggy mused. “This is an interesting development.”

“What is this?” Steve demanded in a strained voice. He continued to stare at the empty place Alaric had stood in only moments before. “Who…what…are you?” He felt a shift in the weight still sitting in his legs, and he knew Peggy was gone.

“Oh, my darling, you know exactly who I am,” Tony cooed in a flirty tone.

Steve attempted to swallow down the large ball of emotion that had lodged in his throat, but it was a futile gesture. He slowly turned his body, and his stomach clenched as he locked eyes with Tony. He was dressed in a pair of stone-washed jeans and a gray raglan shirt with red sleeves. The look was comfortable, but uncharacteristic of what Tony Stark was known to wear. The outfit that he donned was something that Steve had always secretly wished to see him wear, if only just to see Tony in something that was normal to Steve.

Peggy was indeed gone, as if she had never been sitting beside him, but Steve could still detect hints of her jasmine perfume hanging in the air. His plate of half eaten eggs and bacon was still on the table, and Steve watched as Tony reached over the mess of congealing yolk to grab his coffee. Tony knocked back the cup and drained it dry in less than a minute.

“Cold, black coffee with a side of bacon and eggs – the breakfast of American icons! It suits your old man style, Spangles,” Tony quipped, setting the chipped, ceramic cup on the table. He wiggled his naked toes in Steve’s lap.

A shaky exhale fell from Steve’s lips, and he slowly rose from his seat. Tony frowned as his feet fell to the floor with a hard thud. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Who, or what, are you? What is this place?”

Tony’s doppelganger dropped its gaze and stretched its toes, pressing the tips into the wood flooring. Steve waited for an answer, but Tony 2.0 seemed pre-occupied with branding toe prints into the clean floor. Minutes passed, long seconds that wore down Steve’s nerves like magnified sunlight on water. He was one second from grabbing the entity wearing Tony’s face and putting it through the nearest wall when it finally raised its eyes, glancing up at Steve through Tony’s long, sooty lashes.

“You know me, Steve,” it insisted, reaching out to take Steve’s hand. Steve wasn’t sure why he allowed the move, and he watched as Tony’s double unfurled his clenched fingers and pressed his open palm to its chest. The cold sensation that seeped into his pores froze the simmering anger burning in Steve’s veins, and he could feel it settle into the joints of his bones. He’d felt this energy before.

“I – you - you’re _her_ ,” Steve stammered.

Tony-dupe laughed, the sound rich and vibrant, and even though he knew the entity wasn’t Tony, it mimicked his velvety laugh perfectly. The sound washed over Steve, soothing his aching heart. It had been a long time since he’d heard his friend express happiness.

“You know,” Tony-dupe mused, “you’re one of a handful of people in this universe that perceives me to be a female.”

“I…beg your pardon?”

Tony-dupe snorted and rose to its feet, gently releasing Steve’s hand. It moved to stand in front of Steve, sticking its thumbs in the jeans pockets. The sight of Tony basically lounging about in Average Joe clothes and bare feet was enough to tickle Steve’s fascination in a way he wasn’t sure he could decipher. The playful smirk that bloomed on Tony-dupe’s mouth wasn’t helping the situation.

“Most believe Death to be a male. You know, Grim Reaper get-up and all that – somehow the image of an overflowing black robe screams penis to the populace, and I’m not sure why. But you, what you picture in your mind when you think of me, well, I must say, Steve, it’s flattering.”

Steve stared at Tony-dupe for a long moment, trying hard to ignore the heat flooding his face. He felt stripped bare by its stare, and it was a type of vulnerability that he hadn’t felt since childhood. A gaggle of goosebumps erupted along the length of his arms, stretching out to the middle of his back. For a moment, he could feel the bitter cold that snuck in through the large crack in his window and set up shop in his childhood room. No matter how many pieces of wet paper his mother attempted to stuff it with, it was never enough to keep out the elements. The last thing that Steve had felt at night during the Winter months was the cold kiss of Winter’s breath as it pushed through his threadbare blanket.

When Winter passed, Steve’s room was always invaded by heat and dirt so soft and fine he was sure the granules were made of silk. The soil would float throughout the air, coating everything in his room. During the first night of Spring, a fine layer of dust would settle on his skin, caressing his hair before crawling into his sinuses and settling in for a long, Summer nap. The Summer months were hard on Steve – he had daily battles with his asthma that left him completely drained, and some were so bad he swore he saw God’s light beckoning him home.

Whether it was the cold, or the heat and soil, it was his mother who always sat beside him when he had an illness attack. When fever burned the synapses of his brain and threatened to shut down his body, or his lungs were forced shut, depriving him of oxygen, it was always Sarah Roger’s face he saw haloed by the light. She spent the last part of her life crying for Steve, but the tears were more pronounced during his most intense bouts of sickness. It was during the moments where Steve swore he saw the proverbial light that her love shined brightest, the emotion magnified by the tears in her caerulean eyes.

Steve was around three when he made a conscious wish that he wanted his soul to be swept away by one of the waves cresting within the oceans of his mother’s eyes. He would be allowed to stay in the comfort of her love indefinitely. His fear of death had evaporated after he made the wish, and Sarah Rogers transcended her role of mother, and became his place of undying solace that was founded on life and death. It was a reassuring thought to know that no matter how he died, or where he died, he would always return to a place of honest love.

Tony-dupe offered Steve a soft smile, the action crinkling the corners of its eyes. “I see you know what I’m talking about.”

“What of it?” Steve asked, crossing his arms. He may have woken up with his chest intact, but he felt completely hollowed out.

“Not many are willing to give me a dual role of life and death,” Tony-dupe explained. It reached out and loosened the hard grip that Steve had on his biceps, encouraging him to rest his arms at his sides. “Most regard me as an infinite end, a complete loss of being. But really, all I am is a guide.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “A guide?”

“I guide the energies of the lost…onward. Where I take them depends on the person. There are multiple heavens, Steve, and an endless number of hells.”

“And how are people…sorted? Are you saying that you’re responsible for deciding on who goes to heaven and who goes to hell?”

Tony-dupe laughed. “The answer to that question is quite complicated – people’s actions really do affect their eventual resting place, but it is not I who makes the final decision.”

“Who does?”

“Why, individuals play a big part in this decision,” Tony-dupe offered, tilting its head. “And that, my darling, is why you are here.”

“And what is _here_ exactly?” Steve hissed, spearing Tony-dupe with an unyielding gaze. “I know I died. I embraced death as I took my last breaths. Did you resurrect me on Thanos’ orders? Is my consciousness in a computer simulation? Are you planning to rewrite my brain? If your goal is to use me to do harm, I’ll fight you every step of the way, no matter what the cost.”

Tony-dupe reached out and took Steve’s hands within its own. Its eyes were bright with adoration. “Your resolve is what drew me to your heart, Steve Rogers. You’ve had my fascination since the day your heart found its resolve.” Tony’s shade squeezed Steve’s hands. “Thanos thinks himself a self-made god, but he’s nothing but a weak impression of power. He could never command one such as I, even though he is trying his hardest to do so as we speak.”

Steve found that he could not let go of Tony-dupe’s hands. It had been too long since he’d been allowed within a thousand miles near Tony’s space, much less within touching distance. To be able to make physical contact with his friend was like a balm to his spirit. “What do you mean as we speak?” he finally voiced.

“The soul stone has finally manifested on a physical plane,” Tony-dupe explained.

“What?! Where? How?”

“Your death triggered its release, my darling.”

Steve started, and he staggered backward, falling into his recently vacated seat. He still held Tony-dupe’s hands within his own. “What are you saying?” he rasped. “Did I – was it - does Thanos have it?”

“Surely you must know by now, Steve. The stone was entrusted to you.”

Steve’s mouth fell open and he stared at Tony-dupe with wide eyes. “What does that mean?” he wheezed. “What are you saying?”

“You made a wish once, my darling, one borne from a place of absolute hope and untainted love. I traveled through the cosmos for eons, bouncing from star to star without any hope of finding a place to settle – to call home. And one day I heard your voice from across the galaxy, I felt the conviction of your wish, and I knew at that moment that I could find a home within your heart.”

“What are you saying?”

“I came to you,” Tony-dupe revealed. “Do you remember the night when you nearly stopped breathing? The night your mother fell asleep in the wooden chair that sat at the caddy corner of your headboard? You were recovering from a severe asthma attack when another struck in the middle of the night. Your poor mother was so tired she slept through your muted wheezing. Do you remember, Steve?”

Steve had clutched his blanket so hard he was sure his fingers were going to poke through the weak fabric. He remembered staring at his mother’s sleeping face, her eyes framed by dark circles born from sleep deprivation. He had been scared that if he died without gazing into her eyes that he would be lost forever, his soul would be claimed by the void. Steve had struggled to call out, to find the strength to pull himself from bed, but his efforts had been in vain. He had been able to do nothing but lay in place as the world faded around him, and just when he thought it was all over, warmth had filled his chest, spreading through his body and easing the distress in his lungs. He fought through the pain and took in a much-needed breath.

Steve had lived through the night, and then through another, and another.

“Are you claiming to have saved me?”

“No, my darling, I merely offered you a chance. You were the one who fought to live, and your courage saved us both.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve whispered, tightening his hold on Tony-dupe’s hands. “this isn’t real. You’re wearing Tony’s face, but you aren’t him. This can’t be real. I died. I was done fighting. I was ready….”

“You were ready to what, Capsicle?” Tony-dupe prodded. He pulled his hands back and crossed his arms.  

“To rest,” Steve answered.

“You mean you were ready to throw in the towel,” Tony-dupe spat. “What, just ‘cause you’re an old man you think you can slack off, Rogers? There’s a whole universe that needs saving, and you bowed out like a coward!”

“I’m not a coward,” Steve snapped, jumping to his feet. He jabbed Tony-dupe’s right shoulder with his index finger. “I’ve fought my whole life, Tony, and I fought until I couldn’t anymore. I’m just an old soldier whose time has run out.”

A muscle jumped in Tony-dupe’s jaw, and he speared Steve with an unforgiving gaze. “You smell that lovely odor emanating from your mouth, Steve? It smells like fresh-baked bullshit.”

Steve’s nostrils flared. “I’m not having this conversation with you. You’re not even Tony. You wouldn’t understand.”

“So make me understand, Rogers!”

“What is it that you need to understand exactly?” Steve barked. “Why is this any of your damn business?!”

“Because I need to know where to guide you.”

Steve paled. “I-beg your pardon?”

“Just where am I going to send THE Captain America? A heaven? A hell? Or someplace else?”

“W-what other place is there? Are you talking about purgatory?”

Tony-duped laughed, the sound deep and throaty. “Well, now, it would be rude of me to ruin a surprise, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t understand what’s going on, other than the fact that I’m being…judged,” Steve admitted in a faint voice. He ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the roots.

“That’s all you need to know for now, Steve.”

“I-what do I need to do?”

Tony-dupe sighed and offered Steve a tired smile. “Walk around, explore. Spend some time with your son.”

“My – wait - what-”

“Your soul chose this place to take a breather for a reason, Steve,” Tony-dupe interrupted. “Your job is to figure out why. When you do that, we’ll sit down and have a chat about your hereafter, yeah?” He offered Steve a playful wink and sauntered toward the back door. “But don’t worry, you’ll have backup, Spangles. I mean, you’re all still friends at heart, right? Never fear, Steve, you’ll be interacting with the real deal.”

“Tony, what are you-”

“You said it once, remember, Cap? The only way we’re going to get through anything in this crazy universe is together.” Tony-dupe turned the brass knob and cracked open the door. “I’ll be watching, old man. Don’t keep me waiting too long, or I might just decide to keep you here.”

“Wait!” Steve cried. He rushed toward the back door, but Tony-dupe had already slipped through and closed the door behind himself. Steve yanked the door open and stepped outside onto the back porch, his bare feet catching traction on the wooden planks of the patio. He was greeted with a fresh wave of the evening breeze that carried with it the modest sounds and clean smells of Summer in the country.

“Where’s the fire, buddy?”

Steve jerked his head up toward the wooden awning and was greeted by the sight of Clint’s upside down, smiling face. “Clint?” he breathed, taking a shaky step toward his friend.

“The one and only!”


End file.
